


Destination Unknown

by Azzy



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-29
Updated: 2011-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:35:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzy/pseuds/Azzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-SR, Starsky and Hutch figure out where they're going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destination Unknown

“I'm done, Starsk,” Hutch says.

Starsky looks up, bleary, recalled from his own thoughts. Hutch is sitting by the bed, same chair, same jeans and jacket as when he came by that morning (or was it yesterday? Starsky's really not sure). He has his elbows braced on his thighs, shoulders hunched, staring at the floor. “Yeah?” Starsky says intelligently. “Done?”

“Done,” Hutch says quietly. He sounds tired. “Yeah. I'm done.”

Starsky blinks once or twice, even though it doesn't help; painkillers muffle everything, he's found out, and an hour ago Hutch sounded like he was talking underwater. An hour later, and the painkillers start to wear off; good for communication in general, bad for Starsky's concentration. “Hutch - _Hutch_ ,” he says, finally getting it, and reaches out with his left hand.

Hutch takes it, squeezes it. “I picked up my gun this morning,” he says, conversationally, as if this is an ordinary day, an ordinary discussion. “Picked it up and thought, what the hell am I doing, huh? What the hell am I doing, carrying a badge when I don't – know if I want to be.” He looks up and his expression is half scared, half defiant. “You have a talk with Doctor Trent today?”

Starsky nods. “Hell of a talk,” he says.

“Hell of a subject.”

“Hell of a conclusion. Hutch, you know what he said?” Hutch shakes his head, and Starsky smiles; it doesn't feel like it quite fits, not yet, but he thinks it probably will in time. “Bet you guessed the most of it, right? My lungs ain't quite right, and they ain't goin' to be. Kind of knew that already. And sure, I could ask to be shunted around Metro, around any other station, but – I don't want to do that.”

“Figured you wouldn't.” Hutch is gazing at their clasped hands; his thumb is stroking over the edge of the bruise where Starsky had a canula inserted in the back of his hand a week or so ago, not quite touching the darkened area. “Hey, uh, Starsky?”

“Hey yourself.” Starsky knows he sounds soft, knows that if Hutch looks up he'll read every little last bit of love in Starsky's eyes; he also knows, with hazy conviction, that he doesn't care.

“I – I want – to do things. Things we haven't – done, before. Travel somewhere, take a flight out to New York, back to Duluth, hell, anywhere, I want – to do all those kind of things, crazy things we never got time for, and – I want to do them with you, Starsk, soon as you can. That okay?”

Starsky shifts his weight in the bed. “Just you'n'me?” he asks, chest aching with a tension he hadn't ever known was there.

“If that's what you -”

“You proposin' to me, partner?”

“Yeah,” says Hutch, looking kind of scared again. “Guess I am, yeah.”

Starsky squeezes his fingers; Hutch looks up at last, and Starsky can feel the pounding of his heartbeat. “'s okay,” Starsky says, his throat tight. “Could've just asked me to move in with you, would've worked just as well.”

“The point is,” Hutch says hoarsely, “the point is -”

“The point is that we're done with it,” Starsky says. He's tired, his back and chest are burning and _itching_ , but he keeps his gaze steady on Hutch's face because this is important. So damn important. “Both of us. Couldn't stand watchin' you go out on those streets without me, anyhow. And I ain't leavin' you, and you ain't goin' anywhere without me, and – nobody else is makin' that happen, not ever.” He slides his free hand into the hair just behind Hutch's ear and gives a gentle tug. “You goin' to kiss me, or what?”

“Last time that happened,” Hutch says dazedly, and this close up Starsky can see how drained he looks, and how full of wary hope, “you ended up standing on my cacti.”

“I'll bear that in mind,” Starsky murmurs, an instant before warm lips are on his own. The long-awaited kiss is urgent, bone-meltingly hot and a little messy, and it's sweet, achingly desperately sweet; Hutch's hands clutch at his hair, shaking only slightly, and Starsky wonders how long they've both been waiting for it, for this simple acknowledgement of everything that they've become. He suspects it's been quite a while.

Hutch draws back, but only inches; he's braced over Starsky, and the angle has to be uncomfortable, but he's smiling like the sun breaking free from the rain. “Where do we go from here, huh?”

“Anywhere the wind blows,” Starsky says, contented, allowing his eyelids to close; only for a second, only for a minute or two. Hutch is here, and nothing matters beyond that. “Anywhere and everywhere.”


End file.
